


Come Slowly Home

by a_q



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Aftercare, Alcohol, Bruises, Community: kink_bingo, Established Relationship, Kink Meme, M/M, Pain, Secret Relationship, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-18
Updated: 2011-08-18
Packaged: 2017-10-22 18:58:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_q/pseuds/a_q
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Extra combining kinks 'body alteration/injury' and 'exposure'.<br/>Also written for kink meme prompt for Charles/Logan spanking, established Charles/Erik.</p><p>Logan in the sense of 'being in a relationship with Kayla' from Wolverine: the Origins - or you can ignore the few references if you didn't care for that movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Slowly Home

Logan drank his whiskey in his own, slow pace and Charles kept staring at him, and the level of the liquid in the glass. There seemed to be quite a lot of it still. Charles shifted in his seat and held back a sigh. Logan didn't look at him when he spoke, which only meant that he was annoyed.

“You said tomorrow.”

“I know. I just... I...needed. You said I could come over sooner,” Charles said, looking around the bar. He kept projecting the illusion that he belonged here, that he was physically as big and muscular as the rest of the patrons, but they stubbornly refused his mental suggestions, and eyed him with deep seated suspicion. He was the outsider and they wanted him gone. Charles boosted the mental shield around him. “Should I leave?”

“You are here now,” Logan said and finished his drink. He sighed and waved the bartender. “Joe, hand me the phone, will you? Have to call the missus.”

“You need the slip to stay out all night, Logan?” The bartender laughed, slamming the heavy Bakelite phone on the counter.

“Something like that,” Logan said and started to turn the disc. “Pour me another one, yeah?”

“Your friend want something?” The way bartender used the word 'friend' didn't imply any friendliness from his part. Charles shored up his projection, but it had no other effect than the bartender scoffing at him and leaving to talk with the man at the other end of the bar. Logan looked at him while he waited the call to connect. “You are out of your game.”

“Rough week.”

***  
“You were in a hurry get me out of the bar,” Logan said, taking of his flannel shirt and tossing it in the corner. “And now you dawdle?”

“I didn't want to ruin your evening. You had something special planned with your girlfriend?” Charles asked, trying hard not to stare at his bare arms. He had seen Logan in all states of dress and undress, but every time he had the horrible urge to just gape at him. Logan hated when he did that.

“Never you mind. Start moving, or I'll go back to the bar,” Logan said, rolling his shoulders and neck to work out the cricks. Charles unbuckled his pants with shaky fingers. “Lean against the bench and don't move.”

The first slap was hard, and the sound echoed around the empty garage. The tools on the work bench rattled against each other. Every object had its place, and everything looked well taken care off. The second slap was harder still. The pain was sharp and hot at the same time. Charles bit his lip and pressed his head against his arms. Logan hadn't forbidden him from screaming, and he knew that there would be a moment down the line where he wouldn't be able to control that impulse, but right now he still thought more about the possibility of getting caught in some strangers garage, than the needs of his body.

“Rough week, huh? You already have bruises. Did you finally fess up to your man?”

“Don't,” Charles muttered against his arm. Logan hit him so hard that he could feel the impact all the way to his toes. Charles gasped but didn't move. “I don't want to talk about it,” he added, and welcomed the pain, the tangled knots in his mind loosening.

Logan grunted and kept at it, going from hard and heavy hits to lighter and louder slaps, every single one well aimed in the fleshiest part of Charles' ass. He had no idea where Logan had picked up this skill, but from everyone Charles had ever tried, he liked Logan's working method the best. It was direct and fearless, like he considered everyone else to be as invincible as he himself was. And no matter how hard he hit him, Charles knew Logan held back for him. His strength was never out of control.  
Charles cried without realizing it.

Logan stopped for a moment, pressing his hands against Charles' burning skin. “Tell me about the bruises,” he said, and it was more of an order than a question.

“I...ah, it was an accident, of sorts,” Charles said quietly, pressing against Logan's hold, causing more pain for himself. “A kid lost his control, there was some wreckage, I got knocked around a bit. That's all. Please, would you continue?”

“When I'm good and ready,” Logan said. He rubbed over the purple parts of the bruises, examining the freshness. Charles squirmed in his hold. “These big ones must sting a bit when you sit down.”

“Uhh...yes, they do,” Charles said.

“Hm.”

The next hit was hard and landed squarely just at the edge of bruise, and for a moment there Charles thought he would black out. Then there was a few soft touches, then another huge, heavy one that filled Charles' head with color and light. He was sure he screamed, though he couldn't recall it later.

Time seemed to slip out of his grasp after that. The pain was there and he relaxed into it, like inching into a bathtub full of hot water. When he was immersed into it, Logan stopped. He was sweaty and panted with exhaustion, Charles in other hand was lightheaded. He kept crying and giggling at the same time.

Logan sighed and gave him some space, walking over to the old fridge jammed in the corner, pulled a beer he knew would be there and took a long swig. It was cold, and tasted wonderful. When finished the beer, grabbed a little plastic bag from the counter, dumped the contents and opened the fridge again. He scraped ice from the ice box into the bag, twirled the bag closed and folded it with a clean cotton rag meant for shining a car. He took the make-shift ice bag to Charles and hand it over.

“I'll take you to your car, but you better take care of that first,” Logan said, nodding toward Charles' erection. “You have someone with you? You can't drive.”

“Yes, I mean no...Yes.”

“What is it, yes or no?”

“Yes to the driver, no to the wanking,” Charles said and pressed the ice against his ass.

“I'm gonna carry you like a sack of potatoes, get that?”

Charles shook his head. “I'll pass out if I do, I rather be conscious for the time being.”

Logan shrugged, a silent 'suit yourself', and waited him to pull up his pants, before tossing him over his shoulder as if he weighted nothing at all. He walked with long strides but Charles wasn't worried. Logan wouldn't drop him.

“He wouldn't understand,” Charles said quietly, admiring Logan's ass now that he had the chance.

“You said the same about me,” Logan pointed out.

“He has suffered. I can't ask him to do this for me,” Charles said. Words came out so easy in the after glow, and Logan was a good listener.

“Everybody has suffered,” Logan said, stating only a fact. “That is your ride? A taxi?”

“I'll be fine. Put me down, this looks strange.”

“Carrying your drunk buddy out of the bar? Regular Friday evening in these parts,” Logan said but did as Charles asked anyway. “I'm taking the missus to the town next weekend,” Logan added, as an after thought.

Charles nodded, trying not to look disappointed. He wasn't fooling anybody but the taxi driver, who was more interested about the paper than what happened right in front of him. Charles made sure it stayed that way.

“Come back when the bruises are healed. And call in front,” Logan said when Charles angled himself carefully into the back seat, laying flat on his stomach. The driver didn't even blink to that.

“You don't own a phone,” Charles said as Logan slammed the door shut. He imagined he could hear Logan's laughter all through the long drive back home.

***  
To Charles' pleasure, the bruises did not heal well. He had taken aspirin after the accidental bruising, which resulted that Logan's handiwork blossomed into a beautiful colors of black and blue, covering his whole ass. And the color didn't seem to fade the slightest.

On the third day after his meeting with Logan, Charles woke up with a sore back. He craned his neck to look, and noticed that his ass now showed all the possible stages of bruising, from ominous black and purple to pale yellowish tint at the edges. He felt satisfied with that, hoping he could get a photograph of that glory. He had gone to such lengths to acquire it all, it was sad the colors would fade and vanish eventually. But photographs were too dangerous.

Charles sighed and rested his head against the pillow, hoping to catch a bit more sleep before he would have to get up. He dozed off, happy and relaxed, when he was startled awake by Erik, jumping in the bed and slapping him on the ass to wake him up.  
Charles screamed in pain, without realizing that Erik's playful touch didn't warrant such a reaction.

Erik stopped, and slowly edged away from his body.

“Charles?”

“Yes. I'm up. I'm sorry. I...had a bad dream,” he tried, turning his head to look at Erik and make him believe the explanation. Erik's guards were up, and the pain shooting up from his behind made Charles sluggish. The attempt fell flat, and Erik kept staring at him like he had just sprouted a second head.

“No, you are in pain, why?” Without waiting for Charles to come up more lies, Erik grabbed the sheet and pulled it away from his body. He was quick, but Charles was quicker, and by the time the sheet fell off, Erik saw nothing but perfect, unmarred skin. Erik frowned in confusion.

“I'm fine, see? Do you mind? I would like to get up.”

“I'm not stopping you,” Erik said, not moving from the bed.

“I would like you to leave, please?”

“Why? I've seen your dick before.”

Charles tried to get his bearing in the conversation, but his brain refused to come up with anything usable. He couldn't get up like he usually did, because his back was sore and he couldn't place any weight on his ass, not even for a second. The process of getting up to his feet and getting dressed required quite a lot of wiggling and slow movement without any sudden jerks. He couldn't create an illusion that complex to hide what he was doing, not when Erik expected the lie.

“Show me what's wrong Charles,” Erik said and Charles hid his face in the pillow, the look on Erik's face crushing him. “Whatever it is, you can trust me.”

Charles shook his head in quiet refute. Charles heard Erik sigh and he expected him to stand up and walk away. Instead, there was a soft, hesitant brush against his skin, trailing down from his waist down. Charles bit his lip and tried to breath in the suffocating darkness of the pillow, to stop the tears trickling from his eyes as Erik reached the freshest bruise, the one still in the shades of black. The pain sparkled with his touch, making Charles twitch and groan.

“Show me. Charles. I'm not asking. Show me. Right now.”

Loosing the illusion he had held up so long felt like peeling off his own skin, strip by painful strip. Charles cried into the pillow as the illusion withdrew from his skin, leaving the scars and bruises in its wake, like the discarded trash left to the shore by the turning tide.

The silence stretched on, nothing happened. His touch stayed the same. Charles calmed down, his breathing steadying and when the tears stopped rolling, he turned his head to look at Erik.

“I see you Charles,” he said. “I finally see you.”


End file.
